


You Keep Running Like the Sky is Falling

by hiikigane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: A little bit angsty at times i'm sorry, Credence has issues™, M/M, Not quite a Divergent AU but inspired by it, The shipping isn't that obvious but it's there if you squint, but that's why he's so interesting to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11635740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiikigane/pseuds/hiikigane
Summary: Inspired by the fear landscape simulation in the Divergent series: prospective Aurors are now required to face down their deepest fears in a fear landscape as part of the testing process. Credence sees fears he expects, but also fears he doesn't expect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was kind of late to the [Divergent series](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divergent_\(novel\)) of YA books, but I was struck by one of the things introduced in it, the [fear landscape](http://divergent.wikia.com/wiki/The_Fear_Simulation). I was shocked at how people were forced to go through it over and over again in order to show how brave they are and to improve their timings or risk being kicked out of the faction altogether, but it makes for a very interesting premise to play around with (maybe i'm just sadistic and/or procrastinating, the world will never know). Please give the Divergent books a try!

        Standing with his fellow aspiring Auror candidates, looking at the empty room which will be transformed into a living nightmare by the power of their imagination alone, Credence finds himself thinking, not for the first time, that wizards are a bunch of sadistic bastards.

          Newt had laughed when Credence first brought this up. “Sadism isn’t exclusive to magical folk. Plenty of instruments of torture were created by Muggles. I believe there is an intrinsic part of humans that enjoys wielding power over others, and when thrown into a situation where the power balance is severely skewed towards one party, it brings out their basal instincts to do something in order to assert that power. You see such behaviour among animals too, but whether they do it because they enjoy causing pain in the way we define sadism or because of more practical reasons is debatable. Some of the magical creatures you’ve learned about in Ilvermorny were borne from human pain and suffering.”

           By then, Credence was no longer the confused and scared teenager who, upon being officially inducted into the magical world, had looked at everything with a mixture of wide-eyed fascination and fear. He had studied Boggarts and Dementors in Defence against the Dark Arts, and naturally, the professor had had the sense not to bring in an actual Dementor, so it had mostly been a theoretical explanation of the effects Dementors had on people and how to repel them. The professor had also mentioned that the wizarding community in Britain used Dementors to guard their prison, which Credence had found horrifying and saw as a further mark of how sadistic people could be. He had tried casting the charm back in the privacy of his room over the years as he accumulated more memories that might be considered happy enough for the spell to work, but had never succeeded. It didn’t really bother him. What were the chances of running into Dementors when they were floating around a British prison while he was an ocean away in America?

          He mostly hoped Newt wouldn’t wind up in Azkaban for breaking the law, a concern he voiced to Tina when she made sporadic visits to Ilvermorny to check on him. After Newt had found him and extracted the Obscurus, him and Tina fighting tooth and nail against the President to convince her Credence wasn’t a danger, that he deserved a chance to learn magic, to control his abilities or they would just repeat the cycle, he had been sent to Ilvermorny. To be frank, it wasn’t Credence’s first choice. He would have preferred to learn under Newt or even to go to Hogwarts, where he would be just another face in the sea of students instead of the weird kid with enough power to destroy a city, yet didn’t even know what Floo Powder was used for (he had thought it was some sort of flu medicine and tried to dissolve it in water). But Newt had to travel a lot for his research and insisted that the only thing he was really good at was the study of magical creatures. He had tried to persuade the President that Credence would do better in Hogwarts, far away from all the unpleasant memories in the US, but the President insisted that as an American wizard, Credence fell under their jurisdiction, conveniently forgetting that he had been off their radar for years. Newt was still officially banned from entering the country, but he kept in touch through letters, and Tina visited occasionally. He suspected this was something the President insisted on, considering how difficult it was to get to Ilvermorny, but he didn’t mind. Tina was a nice person and probably the first adult he could say he trusted. 

        Over Credence’s five years in Ilvermorny (he had managed to finish the curriculum in five years instead of the usual seven not because of superior magical ability, but mostly because he didn’t have much to do in the way of distractions and the school didn’t want to have an extremely over-aged, almost nineteen-year-old sitting in a classroom with a bunch of prepubescent eleven-year-olds), Tina had gotten married to Newt and moved to England. The move had been a difficult decision considering her high rank in MACUSA’s Auror Office, but apparently the British magical government also had an Auror Office that was impressed with her abilities and she would have around the same status and rank there. Credence wished their History of Magic lessons talked more about other wizarding governments. While most of his classmates struggled to stay awake during those lessons, he took notes on the smallest, most trivial details, revelling in knowledge that people who had been born into this world took for granted. He had decided to become an Auror like Tina because the idea of helping people trapped in desperate situations was appealing. There was another distinctly less charitable reason for this desire, one that he tried not to think about too much, but it was there all the same. There was a part of him that wanted to fight, for people to fear his strength rather than remember him for the weakness that had caused him to cower under his mother’s rule for most of his life and formed the Obscurus in the first place. But he wasn’t fighting because he took pleasure in inflicting pain. He was acting on the side of justice. It was natural for cornered criminals to fight back, and if they got hurt in the struggle, it was just too bad.

          (He tries not to dwell on how this rhetoric could probably be applied to Ma and himself.)

         So there he is, much older than the other fresh-faced Ilvermorny graduates at twenty-four, listening to an Auror explain how the fear landscape works and why it’s being introduced this early in the recruitment process.

        “We have many practical tests to evaluate your ability to think and act in stressful situations, but what counts as a stressful situation varies by individual. It becomes even harder when the situation requires you to face down your own fears. Everyone has fears, so I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how the serum won’t work on you because of how tough you are.”

          There is a smattering of nervous laughter. Credence remains silent. He has a vague idea of what he might see, and he isn’t looking forward to it.

        “In this line of work, you will run into people who have no qualms about using Unforgiveable Curses. There is no way to block the Killing Curse. But with the other two—Imperius and Cruciatus—resistance is possible. This applies especially to Cruciatus. It causes pain, but if you can remember that it’s all in your head, it is possible to prevent yourself from being immobilised, possibly even strike back to stop the curse. This simulation is all in your head as well. You can see that the room you will be escorted into is completely empty. The serum we inject into you will bring your fears to the surface of your brain and you will deal with them one by one, either by bringing your heart rate down to a normal level or by meeting the threat head-on. This will cause the simulation to move on to the next fear until there are none left. Our researchers tell us that most people will face anywhere between ten to fifteen fears.  We will inject ourselves with a separate serum that will allow us to view your fear landscapes and see what you see. The rest of you will not be able to see anything except the person’s reactions to their fears. The goal is to get through the fear landscape as quickly as possible, though I understand that some of you may choose to drop out after this. It’s a new testing method, one which we feel will help you better understand yourself as a person and the importance of non-magical mental preparation—being an Auror isn’t all about knocking people down through duels. We have already screened your school results and those for the written test, and will use them to place you in other departments if you choose to withdraw. I want to emphasise that there is no shame in admitting that you aren’t ready to or cannot face your fears. It takes time and possibly more life experience to work up to it.”

        Everyone seems overwhelmed by the deluge of information, but nobody dares to ask the Auror questions, clarifying their doubts with their friends instead. The two girls next to Credence are frantically whispering to each other. For his part, Credence is still stuck on the part about “ten to fifteen fears”. That’s a lot of fears to be laid bare to a bunch of strangers, although some of them are probably obvious enough, especially if they recognise his name. He hates that these people are nosy enough to pry into things that should be kept private and sadistic enough to make a public spectacle of the person going through the fear landscape. It was like the Sorting Ceremony all over again—why couldn’t they just stand on the knot and let the statues pick them in private? It had taken forever for the Wampus statue to roar, long enough that he had started worrying that this was all a dream, that he had fallen asleep on the floor somewhere in the church after Ma was done with him, too weak to crawl to his room. That he was really just a Squib, sinful enough to be punished for his association with magic but not able to participate in it himself. He forces himself to stop thinking about these things, since they will probably make what waits for him in the fear landscape worse, and his thoughts focus on what the Auror had said about “us viewing your fear landscapes”. The entire briefing had been conducted by one man. Who is this other person that will be viewing his fears?

        The sound of the door opening and the person who marches in causes all the whispers to die out more effectively than any Silencing Charm can. The man’s forehead is more lined than the last time Credence saw him, and his already prematurely grey hair glints in the dull lights. He strides to the front of the room where the Auror is standing, and in the perfect silence, Credence hears a familiar voice say, “Roberts. Sorry I’m late.”


	2. Chapter 2

           A combination of anger and hurt rise up in Credence. What is he doing here? How is it possible for him to sound so nonchalant? The man’s gaze skims the crowd, passing over Credence with no spark of recognition. It is this lack of acknowledgement of their shared past that snaps Credence back to reality. He has never known or met the real Percival Graves. Newt and Tina had explained it all to him after the Obscurus had been removed and he was a little more emotionally stable. The Percival Graves who had taken the flyers from him, healed his hands and urged him to save the child before it was too late was an impostor, a Dark wizard called Grindelwald. Tina had been upset, blaming herself for not realising that her boss had been impersonated. But the way Credence saw it, she wasn’t to blame at all. If this Grindelwald had managed to fool the entire government, including the President, he had to have been acting in character. Which meant Percival Graves was not a good person to begin with. Credence had forgotten that he was the Director of Magical Security. Formerly Tina's boss. _His_ boss, if he managed to make it through the tests.

           _Shit._

          The Auror, Roberts, gives a small bow to Graves and turns to face them. “Since this is a new method of evaluation, our Director will be here to oversee it. He will be watching your fear landscapes with me, but neither of us will get involved. The serum doesn’t permit us to speak to you while you’re in the simulation. You are the only one who can overcome your fears. Just remember that as real as it seems, all of it is in your head. The main purpose of this test is to emphasise the importance of mental preparation.”

           _And to cut all those too weak to face up to their fears_ , Credence thinks. _They’re timing us, after all._

         “Any questions?”

          Credence’s hand shoots up, and the words spill out before Roberts even calls on him. “Why don’t you black out the windows of the fear landscape room? If we’re not going to be seeing their fears, there’s no point in watching just their reactions.”

          Roberts and Graves both look at him, and he flushes under the weight of their combined stares. He realises, belatedly, that there is probably some merit to watching people’s reactions to their fear landscape. Roberts had mentioned that one way to move the simulation on was to slow down one’s heart rate. There’s probably a way to do that, through breathing techniques or something. Now he just sounds like a coward who wants privacy so no one can see him fall apart.

          Graves is the one who answers. “That’s a good idea. We should have thought of that. It gives people who go later the unfair advantage of observing how those in front deal with their fears, even though they may be facing different situations.” He waves his wand and the glass window of the room turns opaque.

         Judging from the murmurs that emanate from parts of the crowd, some of the other candidates had also realised the potential of observing people’s reactions, something which Credence has just denied everyone by opening his big mouth. He feels himself flush again.

             Roberts consults his clipboard. “Well, if that’s all, we’ll do this alphabetically. First up, Mateo Almanzar.”

          A slight, cocoa-skinned boy detaches himself from the crowd and walks up to the Auror. The only other word Credence can think of to describe him is “young”, which is hardly a defining character trait considering how much older he is compared to everyone else. He feels a little bad for young Mateo, whose surname means he probably gets picked first for all sorts of things, including this horrible psychological torture disguised as a recruitment test. Then he remembers that his own surname starts with a B, and he doesn’t know how many people there are between him and Mateo. _Oh well. At least it’ll be over soon._

             Roberts produces a syringe from his pocket and injects the liquid into Mateo’s neck. Mateo doesn’t flinch, and Credence finds himself thinking, _guess he’s not afraid of needles._ He wants to laugh. Needles are the least of his worries. But then Roberts is escorting Mateo into the room with the blacked-out window. He comes out alone and walks over to Graves, who conjures up two chairs with his wand, one for each of them. The Auror takes two syringes out of his other pocket and hands one to Graves. With the eyes of the rest of the recruits on them, they sit down, inject themselves in the neck and stare straight ahead, looking at things invisible to everyone else.

* * *

             The more time passes, the more Credence regrets opening his mouth. There is nothing to do but wait for Mateo to finish his fear landscape. Both Graves and Roberts are still as statues in their chairs. Occasionally, one of them will bite their lip or narrow their eyes, but other than that, neither show any other outward signs of discomfort at what they are seeing. Since the window to the room is blacked out, the only thing the other candidates can do is watch Roberts and Graves watch Mateo, which quickly gets old. He has no idea how much time has passed since Mateo went inside the room. It makes sense that they keep the timings a secret. Credence can’t imagine how long it will take for him to go through the entire thing. Will they even be able to finish testing everyone by today? If his name was somewhere at the back of the alphabet, he might be able to get a reprieve, but he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. Would it be better to just get it over with? Or would another day allow him to think of ways to counter his fears?

            A scraping sound shakes him out of his thoughts. Roberts has gotten up and is walking towards the room. Everyone’s eyes are on him as he pushes open the door, but there is a collective gasp—Credence thinks he might have involuntarily gasped too—when Mateo emerges from the room. He is covered in sweat and trembling from head to toe. It seems to take all of his will to put one foot in front of the other and make his way back to the group of candidates. He doesn’t bother standing like the rest of them, just sinks to the ground and puts his head in his hands.

              _What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?_

A flash of sympathy crosses Roberts’s face, but it disappears just as abruptly. “Thank you, Mateo. You did well.” This is delivered in a businesslike tone. “Next up, Haley Arcemont.”

             A blond girl visibly tenses up, but she stands and allows herself to be injected and led into the room. When the door closes behind her, Roberts makes his way back to his chair. Judging from the sudden vacant expression that descends over his face, he has been pulled into a new fear landscape and is looking at a different set of fears. The second candidate’s test has begun.

              And so they wait.

             After an indefinite amount of time, Roberts gets up again. Haley comes out looking as bad as Mateo. Her face is wet with tears, and all thoughts of looking tough like a prospective Auror, which many of these kids had tried to do at the beginning,  have gone out of the window. Her tears trigger an old protective instinct in Credence, and for a moment he’s back in the church, arms around Modesty as she sobs _I miss my family so much, Credence, I want to go home, I don’t want to stay here_ into his shoulder. Haley stumbles back to the group and practically collapses onto the floor.

             Credence is so lost in thoughts about Modesty that he misses his name being called. It is only when Roberts calls it a second time that he jumps up. He can feel Graves’s eyes on him, and when he chances a quick glance over while Roberts is injecting him, he notices that Graves’s brows are furrowed. He doesn’t understand why Graves is staring so hard at him. Does he remember Credence? Logically, this is impossible. Graves has never interacted with Credence before today. The only way for him to know anything about Credence is for someone like Tina to tell him, and he’s not Tina’s boss anymore. Maybe Graves remembers him as the weirdo who had asked for the windows to be blacked out. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what Graves thinks. He has to face his fears.

           In the time spent musing about Graves, Roberts has steered him into the room. The sterile white walls of the room and the sound of the door closing are the last thing he sees and hears as the simulation begins.


	3. Chapter 3

          Even though his mind tells him he is in a room within the Auror Office of MACUSA, the image that unfolds in front of his eyes is that of the trash-lined streets of New York on a winter evening. He knows it is winter because of the chill that bites into his skin and the slushy grey snow that has built up on the sidewalk. He knows deep inside his mind that he cannot go home. He has no home. Ma has finally had enough of his sinful ways and done what she has been threatening to do for years—turned him out onto the streets. _The streets are full of danger and sin._ His heart thuds in his chest at the thought and his stomach aches with a feeling he knows very well—hunger. He is homeless and hungry.

          He continues to walk down the street, which he recognises as Lower East Side. He and Ma have been there before, attempting to reach out to the people living in the slums. Chastity and Modesty were left at home when they made trips to places like this, for their safety. He knows that Modesty was adopted from one of the families in the Bronx tenement houses and Modesty often wishes they would bring her along on these trips, but is too scared to ask. Ma used to sniff at the settlement-house workers, saying that they may provide practical services for the poor, but they neglect the spiritual aspect of salvation. Their church’s work, running the soup kitchen for the orphans and preaching against evils like alcohol and witchcraft, tackles both practical and spiritual aspects, starting with impressionable young children, who are in direst need of salvation and protection from the evils of the world. Even though he was no longer a young child by then, he found himself wishing someone would save him.

        The slums are usually abuzz with raucous noises and shouting that cause Credence to wish he was back in his small room in the church, but in this simulation-generated image, everything is silent. Women don’t gossip or curse at each other as they stagger along the street with their arms full of groceries, children dutifully clinging to their skirts. There is no sound of breaking glass as men throw bottles against the dirty brick walls of tenement houses, only the sound of the wind as it shakes the shabby pieces of clothing strung between buildings. The silence makes Credence even more scared, and part of him knows that’s not good, he’ll be stuck in this simulation forever if he doesn’t calm down, but he just _knows_ something bad is about to happen. His heart rate spikes as he walks past a man huddled beneath a stack of newspapers—the first person he has seen in the simulation. The wind gusts around them, sending the newspapers flying, and one of the sheets is caught under Credence’s shoe.

            “You’re stepping on my things,” says the man. His voice is low and vibrating with suppressed anger.

           “Sorry,” Credence instinctively apologises, and takes his foot off the newspaper. But without something to weigh it down, the sheet is carried off by the wind.

            “I won’t be able to live on a fuckin’ _apology_! I need shelter!”

           The man jumps up from the ground and aims a fist at Credence’s face. He manages to duck in the nick of time, but his thoughts are a jumble of panic and fear. _It’s winter. I’m homeless. I don’t have shelter, just like this man. Everyone here is struggling to survive. I’m weak and I don’t know how to survive. I don’t know how to fight._

          _Yes, you do!_ Another voice rings out, causing Credence to freeze up. The man’s next punch catches him in the jaw and the pain (real or imagined? He doesn’t know anymore) clears his head. He stands his ground, and when the man pulls his fist back for another punch, he is able to see the trajectory of movement and catch the hand before the blow lands. _I didn’t know I could do that,_ he marvels, then remembers that this is a simulation. Everything is in his head. He has the power to do anything in this world. He is strong.

         At this thought, the man vanishes, as abruptly as if he had Disapparated. The winter street vanishes, and for a moment he is standing in nothingness. Then the scenery resolves itself into an even more familiar setting, and he realises that he has moved on to his second fear. He knew this was coming, knew as soon as they mentioned facing their worst fears that this one would definitely appear, but it still causes his breath to catch in his throat and the skin on his back to tingle, a phantom pain just waiting to sink its jaws into him.

       Ma is standing in front of him. He hasn’t seen her face in over five years, but nothing has changed. She still looks at him with that mixture of anger and loathing, and when he drops his gaze, not wanting to appear defiant, he sees the belt curled between her fingers. He realises that he is trembling, and pain pulses through his body with every beat of his heart. He struggles to recapture the feeling of confidence that had dispelled the first fear. _It’s not real, she’s dead. That’s why she still looks the same._

But it has to be real. It’s just another night at their house, another punishment for another mistake. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s done, but he knows he deserves to be punished for it. Spare the rod and spoil the child. He’s already steeped in sin, nothing can be as bad as the flames and eternal damnation of Hell which is surely what awaits wicked people like him if she isn’t able to change him—

        The hand holding the belt draws back and he shrinks in on himself, knowing even as he moves that this is the wrong thing to do. Showing fear only makes her angrier, and if this is a simulation, he’ll just be stuck here even longer, he doesn’t know what’s real or what’s fake anymore, the fear is clouding his brain and the pain that has been a part of his life for so long is back with a vengeance, _please stop I’m sorry I’m so sorry I won’t do it again—_

       His back presses against the wall and suddenly, he has a flash of another Credence cowering against the wall in another room with blacked-out windows. That’s right, this is a simulation, he’s in that room, not in the church, all this is inside his head, he needs to face up to this fear by slowing down his heart rate or confronting it. He confronted the previous fear, he can confront this one too.

        Even though moving causes pain to shoot through his body, Credence manages to pull himself away from the wall. He takes slow, wincing steps towards Ma and reaches out one hand. This is an action familiar to him, he has done it dozens—maybe even hundreds— of times over the years. But this time, he takes hold of the belt and wrenches it out of her hand.

         Ma looks into his eyes, and her expression is suddenly placid. Then she vanishes, and so does the belt.

         Two fears down.

        The scenery reforms itself, and Credence is momentarily bewildered. He is still in the church, but back in his room. Shouldn’t he be on his third fear by now? Or does this also take place in the church? It’s not a stretch to imagine that; this place contains so many bad memories. But what else could he be afraid of in here?

         A sob cuts through the air, and he jumps. There is the sound of something whizzing through the air, then hitting skin. This brings out another sob, muffled but still audible, as if the person is trying not to cry too loudly. With a fresh surge of horror, Credence realises what is happening. Ma is punishing one of his sisters. She usually saves most of her rage for him, but it does happen occasionally. He isn’t always able to protect them.

      Credence grabs the doorknob and tries to yank the door open, but it remains stubbornly bolted. His pulse spikes as there is another sob. “Open up, goddamnit!”

         The door stays closed. He throws his weight against it, trying to break it down, but all he gets for his trouble is a throbbing pain in his shoulder. He pounds at it, panic gnawing at his insides. He has to get out there, he knows he can handle Ma now, but his sisters are vulnerable, and it is torture listening to Chastity or Modesty crying outside while he’s stuck behind this fucking door, is the simulation bugged or something—

         _It’s not a glitch, this is part of the test,_ he realises. This is the fear of not being able to protect his siblings. There is no way to confront this; hammering at the door is only going to keep him trapped here and the threat doesn’t present itself in the form of a person, but a locked door. He has to slow down his heart rate and breathing.

       Credence takes deep breaths, trying to relax his muscles even though every fresh sob, every fresh blow tears at his heart. This is the only way to stop the torture. When he feels he’s calm enough, he puts his hand on the doorknob and this time, it turns. The door swings open and he is granted a glimpse of the hallway and rickety wooden staircase before everything vanishes and he is left standing in nothingness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned for 8 fears (below average lol but i was out of ideas), so I'll try to break them down here. The ones in this chapter are pretty obvious.  
> -Fear #1: fear of homelessness. This one is based on some personal headcanons I have of how Mary Lou might have intimidated Credence into staying with her all these years. Something like, "You think it's bad here? You wouldn't be able to survive on your own. At least here you have food and a roof over your head." and i guess being told that this is the only safe place for him stuck.  
> -Fear #2: fear of abusive parent. Yeah this one is super obvious, sad reacts only :(  
> -Fear #3: fear of not being able to protect siblings from abuse. I've always been touched by how he only went Obscurus on his mother when she was about to punish Modesty. Pretty obvious too, sad reacts only x 2 :(


	4. Chapter 4

        This time, the scenery doesn’t reform into that of the church, and Credence is relieved. He’s had enough of that place to last him a lifetime. Now he is standing in the chamber adjacent to the Entrance Hall of Ilvermorny, where the Sorting Ceremony had taken place. This is where they picked out their wands after being Sorted. There are lots of first-years milling around, waving wands that emit gold sparks and silver stars and clouds of purple smoke. The beauty of seeing everyone use magic so freely instead of hiding their powers in shame makes him smile. He looks down at his hand and realises he is holding a wand, a different one from the one he normally uses. He gives it an experimental wave. Nothing happens.

         He recognises the Pukwudgie standing before him as Karl, the one who had helped him pick out a wand. Karl mutters something under his breath and grabs the wand from Credence’s hand, stowing it back into a box which he shoves under the table. “Irritating children. Any wand should work fine as long as they’re magic, but no, they _have_ to find the one perfect for them. I hate Sorting days. What a waste of my time.”

         Like everyone who has been to Ilvermorny, Credence knows not to take the Pukwudgies’ words to heart, even though he remembers feeling chastised the first time he heard their muttering. “We really appreciate everything you do for us, Karl.”

         Karl glares up at him and thrusts another wand into his hand. “Don’t try to sweet talk me, boy. Pick your wand and get out of my sight.”

         Credence obliges. He waves the wand, but again, nothing happens. Neither of the next two wands Karl thrusts at him react. The Transfiguration professor sticks her head into the room and calls for everyone who has already picked out their wands to leave, the Prefects are going to show them to their dormitories. The first-years trail out of the chamber, chattering animatedly and waving their wands, thrilled to finally own something that marks them as a witch or wizard. Credence, waving his fifth wand, realises he is the only person left.

         Dread starts to sink into his stomach. All the little kids have picked out a wand. Why aren’t any of them reacting to him? He tries to tell Karl, “I already have a wand. It picked me when I was Sorted five years ago. Or I picked it. Anyway, I have a wand. It has to be in here somewhere.”

          Karl crosses his arms. “Don’t be funny with me, boy. You just got here, and you’ve already tried all the wands in this room.”

          Credence knows he can’t have tried all the wands. He was keeping count, and he has only held five of them. He tells Karl this.

          “Those were the last five. You’ve tried all the wands, and none of them reacted to you. You’re not magic.”

          “That’s not true!” Credence is really starting to panic now. “I’m magical, my mother was a witch; at least I think she was one, I’m here in Ilvermorny and I was sorted into Wampus, the statues wouldn’t have reacted if I wasn’t magical!”

          “Who says we’re in Ilvermorny?”

           _“What?”_

          Karl and the room dissolve in a blur of colour. Credence is confused; he hasn’t conquered this fear yet. His heart is still pounding in his throat and his grip around the last wand is too tight. Why is everything changing?

          Suddenly, he is back in the church. The usually neat and orderly place has given way to a state of advanced chaos. The wooden floorboards are ripped up, the benches are overturned and glass litters the floor, winking in the weak glow of the moonlight. He unclenches his fist and realises that the wand has disappeared. Percival Graves strides into the room and grips his shoulders tightly. “Where is the child?”

         “I don’t understand,” Credence mumbles. His memories of that last Obscurus outburst are hazy, but this feels like something that has happened before. Graves—or Grindelwald—had been asking him to find the Obscurial. Only it wasn’t a child, like he had been led to believe. It had been him all along. Newt had told him Obscurials usually don’t survive past the age of ten, so he must have a lot of latent magic power. He _does_ have magic. Karl was wrong.

           Graves’s fingers dig into his shoulders, and he winces. “The Obscurial was here. Where is it?”

           “It’s me,” Credence says, hating that his voice has gone back to the barely audible whisper he used to speak with. “I’m the Obscurial.”

          Graves laughs harshly, and the sound cuts into Credence more painfully than the lash of the belt from the earlier fear. “You? You’re a Squib. You have magical heritage, but you can’t do magic. The Obscurial is a powerful magical child.”

            “I can do magic!” Credence’s fingers are tingling, but not in the way that precedes an Obscurus outburst. A sense of dread is starting to overwhelm him. Why is everyone saying he can’t do magic?

              Graves rolls his eyes, immune to Credence’s mounting panic. “I don’t have time to play with you. I only got close to you because I thought you’d be able to help me find the child. Tell me where it is.”

             “It’s me! I am—I was—the Obscurial, but Newt removed it and I can control my magic now, I just don’t have my wand with me, lend me yours and I’ll prove it!”

             Still looking impatient, Graves takes one hand away from Credence’s shoulders to withdraw his wand from a holster. Credence practically snatches it from his grasp, trying not to let the wand’s lack of reaction send him into an even deeper spiral of panic. He brandishes it. _“Lumos!”_

Nothing happens. The wand tip remains dark.

              _“Lumos!”_

Still nothing.

             Graves opens his mouth, and Credence knows he will do anything to prevent Graves from saying the words he fears the most—that he’s a Squib, a genetic anomaly hated by his No-Maj adoptive mother, yet unable to fit in with the rest of the magical world. He frantically tries to cast another spell, turning the wand on one of the overturned benches. “ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_

Instead of floating into the air and settling back to the ground the way Credence had intended, the bench stays lying on its side. He tries again with one of the glass shards decorating the floor. It doesn’t move.

            “That’s impossible,” Credence whispers. To his horror, tears are starting to brim in his eyes and his next words come out in a half-hysterical scream. “I can do magic, I know I can!”

              Graves stares back at him emotionlessly.

* * *

              Credence looks into Graves’s eyes. They are dark and expressionless, a bottomless pit of despair that threatens to suck him in. But Graves was capable of kindness, once upon a time. He had extended it to Credence. Yes, that had been Grindelwald, but Credence will take any bit of kindness he can get. If there’s one thing he’s learned from this life, it is to treasure the small bits of kindness and enjoy the fleeting moments of happiness that come his way. That was how he had survived for so long, and it had been worth it in the end. He had experienced Newt and Tina’s kindness, a different sort of magic than the type they taught at Ilvermorny, and now he was going to become an Auror and help those in need and—“ _this is all a simulation, stop messing with my head, none of it is real!”_

            The wand suddenly comes to life in his grasp, magic thrumming through it. A fierce rush of joy courses through him, and he knows he can perform any spell he wants to now. He holds it out in front of him, pointing it at Graves, who doesn’t look alarmed at being confronted with his own wand. The corners of Graves’s mouth turn up in a smile, and this is new to Credence, who swears he can’t remember Grindelwald ever looking like that. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on this. _“Lumos Maxima!”_

The beam of light that spills out of the wand tip is so bright that Credence almost raises his hand to shield his eyes. The light engulfs their surroundings, and Credence knows the simulation is finally ready to move on. Graves is the last to disappear, and the last thing Credence sees before he is swallowed by the light is an actual smile that shows his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear #4: fear of rejection, which manifests as a fear of being unable to perform magic. I thought of it as a fear that wizarding society will reject him if his powers vanish, the way Grindelwald rejected him by calling him a Squib, and if he doesn't belong there, all that suffering/punishment was for nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

         He is walking down the corridors of Ilvermorny. Students of all ages brush past him, talking and laughing as they head for various destinations. Credence notices that everyone is moving in groups of at least two or three people, and he is the only one alone. He laughs a little. This should be easy. He doesn’t fear solitude, not at all. He had never managed to fit in with the people at Ilvermorny—in the beginning, when he was starting out with classes, he had been put with the first-years, who had all been too intimidated by him to talk to him. Likewise, he had been too shy to talk to them. The age gap was just too big. As he caught up with the curriculum and the professors started letting him attend higher-level classes, the other students regarded him as a curiosity—they had heard about the Obscurial that had destroyed half the city and were probably expecting someone more dangerous-looking than him, tall and clumsy on his feet with a tendency to flinch at the sound of spells backfiring; his hair, now grown out, creeping halfway down his collar. Students in the same year usually slept in a common dormitory, but he was neither here nor there, so they had given him a single room. That was where he spent most of his free time, slowly working his way through books from the library and puzzling over assignments. Anyone else might have thought it a lonely existence, but it suited Credence just fine. After years of trying not to draw attention to himself, he was finally free to blend into the background.

       Suddenly, Professor Sheridan, who teaches Defence against the Dark Arts, steps out of the staff room, just in front of Credence. All the students stop moving and Credence halts as well, trying not to crush the group of third-year girls in front of him. He feels a prickle of unease. The movements are too orchestrated, too uniform. What is this fear supposed to be?

       “Students, it has come to my attention that someone broke the charms around the Restricted Section of the library and took out books related to the Dark Arts. You all know the rules regarding books from the Restricted Section. Only students in the sixth year and above are allowed to borrow books from it, and they have to approach the librarian, who in turn will get me to undo the charms so the books can be removed. Someone undid the charms around the Restricted Section. Someone magically powerful enough to break through with sheer magical power, without knowing the exact counter-charms to use.”

       The professor’s gaze lands on Credence, and he shivers. This has never happened in real life. He had considered taking out books from the Restricted Section before, but the one time he had approached the librarian, she had given him such a suspicious look that he changed his mind and grabbed for the nearest book, mumbling that he wanted to read this one instead. His short time in the wizarding world had taught him how suspicious they were of anyone who showed an interest in the Dark Arts—he supposed it made sense, considering what Grindelwald had done in New York. He was even more prone to suspicion than the average student, given his background. Newt had explained that people these days didn’t know much about Obscurials. Ever since the signing of the International Statute of Secrecy that had caused wizards to go into hiding, many people had grown up among magical communities where they didn’t have to suppress their powers. Marriage between magical and non-magical people did occur, but in most cases, if the offspring from that marriage demonstrated magical powers, they at least had one parent who could help them, and the other parent was usually supportive, if confused by the underground society they had suddenly been dragged into. Many of Newt’s friends, he explained, were what they called “half-blood”. Most of what people knew about Obscurials were related to the destruction they caused and their potential to destroy the fragile peace that had been forged between magical and non-magical communities by sheer dint of one side pretending the other didn’t exist. The history of persecution weighed heavily on the minds of many wizards, so Obscurials were a huge threat. That was why MACUSA had come down so hard on him. “But there is no excuse for their ignorance. You are a part of the magical community and you needed help, but they tried to kill you. They failed you,” Newt had concluded, his usually easygoing expression replaced by rare anger.

      Credence learned that things were much worse in the US. During one of his earliest History of Magic classes, as his fellow classmates passed notes and kicked the backs of each other’s chairs, he had learned about the Scourers and the breach in the International Statute of Secrecy Dorcus Twelvetrees had inadvertently caused by leaking information to Bartholemew Barebone. He still remembered the horror he felt when he heard the name, and swore the professor’s eyes had lingered on him long after he stopped talking about the Scourers and moved on to another topic. He had been adopted by the descendant of a Scourer. At least that explained why Ma had hated magic so much.

      So if people didn’t already distrust him because of the whole Obscurus thing, they probably hated him for his last name alone. He couldn’t change it, since he didn’t know what his real parents had been called. Nobody outright bullied him about it; this was one advantage of being older than literally the entire student population, but he felt it in the whispers that abruptly cut off when he slouched into a classroom and dumped his things on the table furthest from the front, and in the professors who spoke to him in overly casual tones, trying their utmost to treat him like any other person but unable to fully disguise their curiosity towards this student who, under normal circumstances, should have graduated long ago.

      And now they all think he broke into the library to steal books on the Dark Arts.                    

      “I didn’t do it,” Credence says, trying to sound firm instead of terrified out of his mind.

      Professor Sheridan sighs. “Nobody else in this school has enough magical power to break through my charms without using the specific counter-charm.”

     “Maybe one of the teachers did it.” Credence wishes it didn’t always come down to things out of his control. He hadn’t asked to be born with magic, hadn’t asked to be adopted by someone who punished him for it every day, but that was what had happened anyway. He certainly hadn’t asked to develop an Obscurus and survive for so long that a Dark wizard had tried to groom him as a potential weapon, but that was what had happened anyway. He hadn’t been able to control these situations, but now the Obscurus was gone and he was using magic instead of suppressing it. He would know if he had broken into the library. He was in control of his powers, not being controlled by them.

       Right?

       “None of the other teachers have any use for such books.”

      “With all due respect, Sir, are you trying to say I have use for them?” Credence feels the eyes of all the other students boring into him and suddenly pictures what Ma would do if she heard him disrespecting an authority figure in front of so many people. He has the urge to laugh again. This whole scenario is ridiculous. He hates being the centre of attention, but everything about his presence in Ilvermorny is begging for people to take notice of him. His name, his background, his lack of knowledge of things everyone else takes for granted. Professor Sheridan’s distrust towards him stems purely from his name and background.

       The thought of having to carry around these burdens for the rest of his life, of standing out no matter where he goes and never being able to find a place where he fits in causes his heart rate to spike.

       “I’m not accusing you of being interested in the Dark Arts. I understand you might be curious about such things, given your…background. But I would rather you approach me with any questions you might have before going straight to the Restricted Section.”

        “I didn’t do it!” Of course the Professor would make it about his background. Nobody trusted an Obscurial, let alone one with the surname Barebone. Credence wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m not interested in learning how to torture or kill—“

        The students start murmuring among themselves. Professor Sheridan gives him a look that manages to be both pitiful and sceptical. Credence realises, with a pang, that he _has_ killed people. Ma, Chastity and that politician. They would know all about this from the reports of the Obscurus rampage. How can he claim to be uninterested in the Dark Arts when he already has a tally of kills? It’s a wonder they haven’t thrown him into the American equivalent of Azkaban.

        His breath is coming out in short, sharp pants. This is all because of his wretched, accursed past. If he had been born normal and grown up in a normal family, he wouldn’t be subjected to this horrible psychological torture, having his deepest, darkest fears laid out for people like Roberts and Graves to view and analyse. He knows his life is fucked up. He doesn’t need a second or third opinion to confirm it.

      _Graves._ If there is someone who might understand how he feels, it’s Graves. Having everyone’s eyes on him for all the wrong reasons—instead of being respected as a capable wizard and for being the Director of Magical Security, Graves will always be remembered as the guy who was impersonated by Grindelwald. People probably whisper about him behind his back, wondering if he’s secretly a Grindelwald sympathiser who practices Dark Arts. Credence doesn’t know what Graves thinks about this fucked-up display of fears and there is no way to communicate with the man while he’s still in the simulation, but he is suddenly absolutely sure that his earlier judgment of Graves not being a good person was wrong. He had been acting just like Professor Sheridan and the other students, passing judgment on someone he barely knows. He looks the professor in the eye. “My past doesn’t define me. I want to be remembered for what I do from here on out, not what happened before.”

       The corridor and everyone in it disappears in a flash of white light, and Credence knows he has conquered this particular fear.

* * *

       The next scenario unfolds with Credence sitting on the bed in his single room back in the Wampus dormitories. He runs through everything he’s gone through so far. One in Lower East Side, two in the church, one split between Ilvermorny and the church, and one in Ilvermorny alone. It looks like this sixth fear will take place in Ilvermorny as well. Remembering what Roberts had said about most people having to face between ten to fifteen fears, he feels a bout of exhaustion threaten to overwhelm him. Even if he gets lucky and only has to face ten fears, he’s barely halfway through. The thought of having to go through this emotional rollercoaster another five times makes him want to curl up on the bed and sleep for the next hundred years. Is it possible to fall asleep in a simulation?

     The door bursts open and Credence jumps off the bed, ready to face whatever new threat the simulation has in store for him. But the two people who topple inside are not threatening at all. Quite the opposite, they represent safety and acceptance. He beams. “Newt! Tina! What are you doing here? I thought Newt wasn’t allowed into America anymore?”

     Newt stares at a spot somewhere around Credence’s left shoulder. The lack of eye contact is a very Newt-like trait that is comforting in its familiarity. He doesn’t answer Credence. Tina looks straight at Credence, but her brows are furrowed and she is biting her bottom lip, a sure sign that she is nervous. She had behaved like this when Credence first woke up after that last rampage and saw her hovering over his sickbed, unsure if he wanted her to be there. She had, after all, attacked his mother and knocked her unconscious. He wasn’t supposed to remember this—the Auror Office had Obliviated everyone on the scene, including himself—but somehow, he remembered and had confessed to Tina, in a low murmur, that he was glad she had done it. Tina had laughed and said that as long as he was glad, that was all that mattered.

    Tina isn’t laughing now, though. Her nervousness is starting to rub off on Credence. Did he do something wrong? He had to have done something terribly wrong for the two of them to show up at Ilvermorny at the same time, especially for Newt, who is risking arrest by entering America.

     “Credence…”

     “What?”

     “Professor Sheridan is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Fear #5: fear of attention. I think someone like Credence simply wants to find somewhere he belongs and blend into the background, but his past doesn't allow him to do that. Wizarding society is pretty narrow-minded and paranoid so I thought they might associate Obscurials with Dark Magic since they cause so much destruction. Add that to the Scourer threat in the US (his last name) and he's basically the Fantastic Beasts version of Harry Potter? hahaha


	6. Chapter 6

          Credence is sure he has misheard Tina. “Sorry?”

          “Professor Sheridan is dead. Someone went to check on him after he had missed his first two classes. They found him lying on the sofa in his living quarters. It was a Killing Curse.”

          “That’s awful.” Credence means it. The simulation version of Professor Sheridan had accused him of stealing and trying to learn about the Dark Arts, but the real Professor Sheridan had been courteous and professional if a little bit detached, curious about Credence but never asking him probing questions about the Obscurus. After that last fear helped him reach the realisation that he didn’t want to be defined by his past, he appreciated Professor Sheridan’s restraint even more, even though it was probably a very interesting subject to someone who taught Defence against the Dark Arts.

           “He taught me when I was a student here,” Tina says softly.

            Credence doesn’t know what to say to that.

           “They think you did it,” Newt adds, almost like an afterthought.

            _“What?!”_

Tina cringes a little at the anger in Credence’s voice but Newt stays calm, his blue eyes now looking at the books on Credence’s desk, his head bobbing slightly as though he is reading the titles on the spines and committing them to memory.

           “I would never kill Professor Sheridan,” Credence declares, trying not to sound angry or panicky. Tina is an Auror, she has plenty of experience interrogating criminals, and anger or fear are probably the surest indicators of guilt there are.

            _Why am I thinking like this? I didn’t kill anyone._

            “You killed three people with your Obscurus,” Newt points out.

            “I _know!_ I think about this every day! Chastity was my sister, she didn’t deserve to die like that! I didn’t know the politician very well, but I also don’t think he deserved to die! Ma—” Here, Credence stops talking. He cannot say, with complete honesty, that Ma didn’t deserve to die. The part of him that he tries to ignore, the part that wants to become an Auror in order to brawl and fight and show all the criminals who’s boss, is glad that she’s dead. She had carved deep scars into him, both physical and psychological, and he sometimes wonders what life could have been like without her. A normal childhood with those nameless, faceless parents. Arriving at Ilvermorny and finishing his education on time with people in his cohort. Having actual friends instead of two sisters who had lived in the same state of fear as him. Not jumping at sudden noises and holding his breath when a professor gets angry with the class, worrying that someone’s about to get hurt.

              _She’s a fucking bitch and I hope she’s burning in that Hell she always threatened me with._

The vitriol in his thoughts shocks Credence. Tina is watching his face, and she looks like she is about to cry. “Credence…no one blames you for the deaths caused by your Obscurus, but now that it’s gone, you have to take responsibility for your actions… you can’t let anger get the better of you. There are consequences for murdering someone, both in our society and No-Maj society alike.”

              “But I didn’t murder Professor Sheridan! I don’t even know how to cast the Killing Curse!”

             “They tell me you had a run-in with the professor about illegally taking books on the Dark Arts out of the Restricted Section,” Newt pipes up. “We call it the Restricted Section in Hogwarts too, but we need a signed note from a professor in order to take books from it, regardless of year. I didn’t know there was an age limit for borrowing books, nor that professors here put spells on the books to prevent students from getting at them. It seems like your Ministry’s paranoia towards all things starts in school.”

              _“Newt,”_ Tina hisses.

             “That was a _simulation_! I’ve never borrowed any books from the Restricted Section in real life!” Credence knows he is starting to sound too defensive, too angry, but he needs to keep a grip on what’s real and what’s not. Except for the homeless man, who was just a symbol of his fear of not being able to survive on the streets, his interactions with the people in his fear landscape are all somewhat grounded in reality. How does this simulation version of Newt know about the contents of his previous fear?

              Newt is still looking at the books on Credence’s desk. “Killing splits the soul. It’s not something that should be taken lightly. If you’ve read books on the Dark Arts, you would probably know this.”

              “I didn’t read any books on the Dark Arts, and I know killing is wrong.” This is true. He’s had the Ten Commandments drilled into him all his life, and while he has definitely broken the one on killing, he isn’t completely cold-blooded. His name and background might be likened to heavy rocks that weigh down his footsteps, but the murders of three people, two of whom were sort of related to him, are an albatross around his neck.

               Tina bites at her bottom lip. “There will be a trial, of course, but I’m not sure how it will go when you don’t have the Obscurus as an excuse anymore. You aren’t a child causing accidental magic, and accidental magic doesn’t usually result in death anyway. Losing control of your emotions isn’t going to be seen as a valid defence.”

              Credence wants to argue that he didn’t murder anyone so there won’t be a need for a trial, but what Tina has said about losing control of emotions sticks in his mind. The Obscurus had been a perfect symbol of loss of control. He hadn’t known he’d been carrying something like that inside of him, hadn’t known when it would strike or what sort of damage it would cause. He hadn’t even known he’d killed people until Newt and Tina had told him. He might still be fifty shades of fucked up, but he was more in control of his emotions now, and killing someone who’d accused him of stealing books was one of the stupidest motives he’d ever heard for murder.

               Right?

             “I didn’t kill anyone,” Credence repeats, but Tina and Newt seem to hear the doubt in his voice, because Tina just looks sadder while Newt’s gaze flits to the Ilvermorny school robes hanging in the cupboard.

               “I’m in control of my emotions! I’m not a naturally violent person!”

              Even as he says this, he remembers his desire to hurt and his savage pleasure at the thought of Ma burning in Hell, and his pulse judders erratically. He had thought wizards were sadistic for using Dementors to guard a prison and for making this test part of the recruitment process, but maybe he was the real sadist. Aurors weren’t supposed to hurt criminals, just apprehend them and let the law handle the rest. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to become an Auror.

                 _But I do want to help people in need, like Tina did_ , he reminds himself. It wasn’t all about beating up criminals. He had to remember that.

               Credence takes a deep breath. Maybe this fear landscape is good for something after all. It's forcing him to acknowledge his fears and face the uglier parts of himself. He fears the violence that may follow if he loses control of his emotions, and what that means about him as a person when he can’t blame it on the Obscurus. If he has really lost control and killed someone, he needs to pay the price. It’s only right.

               “Arrest me, then.”

                Both Newt and Tina look surprised. Newt even manages to look at Credence in the eye for a few seconds before his gaze drops to Credence’s collar.

                “We’re not here to arrest you. We just wanted to hear your side of the story, which might help in preparing your defence.”

                “There’s no story to tell. I didn’t kill the professor. But if I did, and it’s because I lost control, then I should be arrested.”

               “You’re a good kid, Credence. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Tina smiles, and she and Newt both vanish as his surroundings are swallowed by white light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear #6: fear of losing control/turning violent aka anger issues. I think he has issues, but he's a good kid :')


	7. Chapter 7

        Credence finds himself lying on the floor of a small room with bars on the window. A jail cell, then. Is this supposed to be fear of imprisonment? He’s not sure if it’s a continuation of the previous fear. Maybe he has been found guilty of killing Professor Sheridan and is now in jail. He briefly wonders why his brain didn’t cook up an execution scenario. Most people would be afraid of death, especially if it has been scheduled in advance, like an execution. He _should_ fear death. He has been told all his life that he’s going to Hell after he dies, but God is merciful and if he repents for his sins, he will be allowed into Heaven. He’s not too sure about that now. Newt and Tina have done more to help him in the five or six years he has known them than the prayers for forgiveness and salvation he has offered up for eighteen years. Maybe that’s why he’s not afraid of death—even though he has sinned and killed, he isn’t worried about the punishment that awaits him in the afterlife anymore.

      He quickly evaluates himself. His heart rate and breathing are normal, so it doesn’t seem like the jail cell is the root of his fear. It’s probably related to something that hasn’t appeared yet. He wonders if Newt and Tina visit him in jail. They live in England now, and Newt travels a lot for research, but if he had risked entering America to listen to what Credence had to say about murdering the professor, surely he would try to visit, or at least communicate through letters? Credence doesn’t know how jail works. Maybe letters he receives are vetted by someone, so they withhold things from Newt, who is officially persona non grata. But Tina should have written. She cares about him. It had been hard for him to believe this at first, but both she and Newt had convinced him that he was worthy of love.

         So where are they?

         “They’re not here.”

       He jumps at the sound of the voice. Percival Graves is standing behind the bars that separate his cell from the dimly-lit corridor. He is wearing the same clothes he was wearing when he appeared in Credence’s earlier fear of not being able to perform magic. Credence quickly pushes himself to a sitting position. What is it with Percival Graves appearing in his fear landscape so often? He might be able to understand the previous one, since Graves—or Grindelwald—had been searching for the then-unidentified Obscurial. Him. But the real Graves is Director of Magical Security. He should have better things to do than stand around jail cells, intimidating prisoners.

          “Your Newt and Tina have forgotten about you. Life gets busy when you have to take care of a child, and Newt is trying to get another book published.”

         “Newt and Tina have a child?” Credence feels his already tenuous grip on reality slip again. As far as he can remember, Newt and Tina don’t have a child in real life. The simulation versions of Newt and Tina hadn’t mentioned such a thing either.

         “Yes. A son. Tina is very busy with her work at the Auror Office in the Ministry of Magic but Newt’s schedule is a little more flexible, so he’s a lot more involved in parenting than most males.”

         “That’s great,” Credence says lamely. Maybe Tina is closer to Graves than he had believed, if she talks to him about their child. But why didn’t she tell Credence? He would have loved to congratulate them.

          “The boy is two years old and already showing signs of magic. Newt can’t wait for him to get a little older so he can introduce his son to the creatures he loves so much.”

             The child is already _two years old_ and neither of them have thought to tell him?

             “That’s…wow. They’ll make fantastic parents.” Credence looks down at the worn stone floor, not wanting Graves to see the turmoil on his face.

           “Parenthood is a full-time commitment.” This short, curt sentence contains an ocean of unsaid words that Credence picks up on nonetheless. _They don’t have time for you anymore. You’re just someone who fell into their laps and they took care of you for a bit, but now they have someone that’s actually related to them, someone they actually love. You caused Tina to get demoted. You nearly killed Newt in your Obscurus form. Their child would be better off far away from a fucked-up freak like you._

            A pang shoots through Credence and he pinches himself hard, trying to cut off this train of thought. What does Graves know? Newt and Tina are kind, loving people. Surely they have enough kindness to spare for him, even if their child comes first? Of course their child should come first. He might not have experienced it himself, but he understands, in theory, that parents will do anything to protect their children.

              Even if it means cutting off contact with someone as dangerous as him.

              “They can’t have forgotten me,” he whispers.

              “Forgotten. Forsaken. Abandoned. Take your pick. They have a whole new life now, one that doesn’t involve you.”

            “How would you know this?” Credence is still pinching himself, trying to focus on the pain instead of the poisonous words and thoughts seeping into his mind, corrupting his memories of Newt and Tina.

              “It doesn’t matter how I know. Do you see Newt or Tina here? Did you know they had a child until I told you? People drift in and out of each other’s lives all the time. It’s hard to keep in touch when they’re in England and you’re rotting away in jail here in America. You should be used to being alone by now.”

               “Tina used to visit me in Ilvermorny,” Credence says to the floor.

               “That was because the President asked her to check on you. Seraphina Picquery and I are friends from school, and we have a close working relationship as well. She says you have no connections to anybody in the American wizarding community except Tina. I have no reason to distrust her on this issue. Now that Tina answers to the Ministry of Magic rather than MACUSA, she is no longer obliged to check on you, whether you are in or out of school. Frankly speaking, between her job and her child, I would be surprised if she can find the time to do so.”

              Credence’s vision is starting to blur. For a moment, he thinks he is about to pass out, before something wet streaks down his cheek and he realises that he is crying. He swipes viciously at his eyes, keeping his head bowed. “They haven’t forgotten me.”

                “Where is your proof?”

                “Maybe their letters are being withheld. I’m in jail, after all. You guys probably go through everything that comes from outside.”

                “Nice try. I can tell you that no letters have come for you the whole time you’ve been here.”

                “How would you know? You’re the Director of Magical Security, not the warden!”

               “There is an additional layer of screening for someone as dangerous and volatile as you. One of my Aurors who specialises in curse-breaking is stationed in the prison, working with the administrative staff here. She’s in charge of looking over anything addressed to you—letters, packages, whatever. I’m considering posting her somewhere else, though. Since you don’t get anything, she just reads those trashy magazines and gossips with the staff all day.”

                “Maybe something big is happening in the UK, something that’s keeping them even busier than usual. Tina’s an Auror, and if Newt is really trying to meet a publishing deadline, they wouldn’t have time to write to me.” Credence knows he is grasping at straws, but there are all sorts of reasons that could be preventing them from writing, reasons that don’t involve them forgetting he exists.

               “Persistent, aren’t you? We’re monitoring the situation in Europe. Things are tense with Grindelwald, but nothing big has happened to keep the Aurors too busy.”

             “They can’t have forgotten me,” Credence repeats. The tears are falling freely now, and some of them land on the reddened skin caught between his fingers. He doesn’t want to fall apart in front of this person he thought he knew but had turned out to be someone else, who delivers horrible news in such a detached, clinical manner, but he can’t stop crying. Graves is right; he had been alone before, but it is so hard returning to that state after having experienced kindness and friendship. “Newt and Tina are nice people…they won’t just abandon me like this…”

                  “Why haven’t they written to or visited you, then?”

                   _“I don’t know!”_ His voice breaks on the last word.

                 Graves doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches on, broken only by Credence’s heaving sobs. He has completely given up on hiding his tears. This is so stupid. He’s trapped in a cell in his mind, arguing with a simulation about whether or not he’s alone in the world. Logically, he knows this is the fear of abandonment. He needs to slow down his breathing, because there’s no way he can overcome it. What is he supposed to do, charge at Graves and punch him for saying such things? He tries to take deep breaths and relax the tension in his shoulders.

                 Thinking about punching simulation Graves reminds him that the real Graves is watching, and probably wondering why on earth he appears as a jailer in Credence’s fear landscape. The real Graves is probably also getting tired of watching this one-man pity party. From what little Credence has seen of him, the real Graves is strong and unshakeable. He might have been overpowered by a Dark wizard, but he wouldn’t let mere words get to him. Credence tries to draw on that strength, repeating to himself, _this is a simulation. Newt and Tina still care._

He manages to bring the hiccups down to a minimum. Wiping away the rest of his tears, he looks up at Graves, who still hasn’t said anything and remains standing behind the bars, hands in his pockets. He takes a deep breath and tries to prevent his voice from shaking as he says the words that he hopes will finally do the trick. “I’m not alone. Newt and Tina still care. If I really have to face things alone, well, I’ll find my own way. I won’t stop fighting.”

                The cell and Graves vanish, and in the white, empty nothingness that follows, Credence finds himself thinking, _please let this be over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear #7: fear of abandonment.


	8. Chapter 8

          But of course it isn’t over. That was his seventh fear. He has at least three more to go. He is now standing in the living room of his small apartment, still sniffling a little. Credence yearns for the simulation to end. But he remembers his last words to Graves, _I won’t stop fighting_ , and knows that even if that was just an empty promise to a figment of his imagination, he has to take it seriously for his own sake. He has been fighting all his life, and he can’t let himself be swallowed up by his fears.

          He tries to think about what sort of fear awaits him in this apartment. He had rented it after graduating from Ilvermorny, knowing that if he managed to pass the tests, he would be working at MACUSA, so he needed somewhere to stay. Naturally, he didn’t want to be anywhere near his old home, even though the church has probably already been torn down—his final Obscurus rampage had completely destroyed the place but unlike the subway station, there had been no need for MACUSA to repair it. The apartment is a little far if he plans to take public transport to work, but since he knows how to Apparate, that’s not a problem. The ability to appear and disappear at will still thrills Credence and he had done his best to master it, despite the warnings on the dangers of Splinching. The old habits cultivated at Ilvermorny are hard to break, so in the few weeks since moving back to New York and sending in his application to become an Auror, he has mostly stayed inside, leaving only to buy groceries. Unlike some of the other MACUSA employees he has overheard singing effusive praises about the bustling streets and breath-taking skyscrapers, he grew up here, so he’s seen it all. He has no desire to check out the wizarding pubs or nightlife, which might be a holdover from all those years of listening to Ma rant about the sinful nature of nightclubs. All in all, the apartment provides him with what he likes—peace and solitude. So the fear is probably going to be something that threatens this.

         His eyes are drawn to a white envelope resting on the dining table. He puts letters and books on his bedside table, and in the real world, the dining table had been empty when he left the house that morning. Credence decides to investigate. Picking it up, he recognises Newt’s handwriting and recalls the previous fear about being abandoned by him and Tina. His brain sure seems to swing from one extreme to another. Smiling, he sticks a finger under the flap to slide it open, but ends up cutting himself on it.

         Credence withdraws his finger, frowning. Papercuts sting, but this cut looks deeper than usual. It’s also bleeding a lot more than usual. Blood is seeping into the envelope. He drops the envelope quickly and runs to grab tissues, but it continues to flow, staining the tissues a dark red. He tries holding his hand under the tap to no avail. Bright red water gurgles down the drain, and looking at it makes him slightly nauseous. Then he remembers that there are healing spells he can use on this. He really needs to remember he’s a wizard. Is it a normal papercut or a curse, though? Why would Newt send him a cursed envelope?

       Credence hunts for his wand. It hadn’t appeared in any of the previous scenarios, but now he approaches his bedside table, knowing it’ll be there. Sure enough, the wand is lying next to some books. By then, his entire right palm is covered in blood and some of it is dripping onto the floor. He feels slightly dizzy, though he isn’t sure if it’s because of blood loss or because he’s afraid of blood. He has never thought of himself as afraid of blood—he has had to tend to his own wounds in the past, but none of them have ever bled this much. Clumsily holding the wand in his left hand, he casts Episkey. Blood runs down his right arm. Why isn’t the spell working? Hasn’t he already faced the fear of not being able to perform magic?

        He _did_ cast the spell successfully. Credence knows this in the same way he knew he would find his wand on his bedside table. He tries a few other healing spells, but none of them staunch the bleeding. Strangely enough, his finger doesn’t hurt, it’s just this uncontrollable bleeding. Is there a deep-seated, psychological meaning behind this fear? His previous fears had all been related to events he feared coming to pass or things that had actually happened. If he can just figure out why he’s scared of this, he can deal with it and move on.

         The dizziness is starting to make it hard to stand, so Credence sinks onto the floor, resting his head against the bed. He looks up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and trying not to look at his blood-drenched hand.

        _Maybe it symbolises fear of loss of control. No, wait, I already faced that one. Fear of bleeding to death? Maybe. Or is it one of those things there’s no explanation for? This entire exercise is supposed to get us to think logically in the face of fear. I can’t use logic on an irrational fear. I’ll just have to face it head-on. Newt said one of the Hogwarts houses is famous for people who charge into things head-on, for bravery. I must be brave._

Trying to summon his courage, Credence forces himself to look at his hand. He can’t even tell where the cut is, because the entire hand is covered in blood. The room spins around him as he struggles to his feet and stumbles to the bathroom, where he turns on the water and sticks his hand under the tap again. The water that flows down the drain is the brilliant red of rubies, which he remembers Newt saying is the colour of that house that prizes bravery. Gryffindor. He wonders what house he would have been in if he’d gone to Hogwarts. Maybe they should make the Hogwarts kids go through a fear landscape too, and only those who make it through get to go to Gryffindor. He laughs at the thought, and the dizziness abates.

           Maybe one way to conquer fear is to laugh in its face.

           The water is still running as Credence’s surroundings vanish.

* * *

 

           Credence opens his eyes to sterile white walls and a huge, blacked-out glass window. This new setting is oddly familiar. He looks down at his hand and sees that it is no longer covered in blood, but his knuckles are scraped and there is a small patch of skin that is slightly red. He remembers pounding on the door of his bedroom and pinching himself, but he hadn’t noticed these injuries in that last fear. Why are old injuries being carried over all of a sudden?

        The door swings open, and he tenses up at the sight of the man walking towards him. _Not again._ Why does Percival Graves keep appearing in his fear landscape? “What now?”

           The man’s eyes glitter with amusement. Credence doesn’t remember Graves looking amused in the other scenarios, though he remembers Graves smiling. Or was he laughing? Everything is all jumbled up. “It’s over. You’ve cleared the fear landscape. I’m here to walk you out.”

            "I don’t believe you.”

          Graves takes Credence’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Give me a chance, kid. I’m a lot nicer than how I appeared in your fear landscape.” He brushes a finger over Credence’s scraped knuckles, and Credence feels a swooping sensation in his stomach, even as exhaustion hits him with the force of a Blasting Curse. “I want to talk to you about those fears later.”

           Credence is too tired to answer. He stumbles out of the room with Graves following closely behind, making his way back to where everyone else is waiting their turn. He sinks to the floor and closes his eyes, tuning out the voice of Roberts as he calls for the next candidate to begin their round of torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear #8: fear of blood. I just wanted something that might be considered an irrational fear that isn't related to all that emotional baggage he's lugging around haha. I considered things like fear of enclosed spaces, but one of the characters from Divergent, Four, has that fear and his upbringing is very similar to Credence's, so I thought I'd try something else (the similarity in upbringing means their fears sometimes overlap. More specifically, 2 of Credence's fears are similar to Four's but I tried to put a different spin on them because y'know, wizards and stuff)


	9. Chapter 9

          Credence doesn’t know how much time has passed or how many people have completed the test, but by the time he manages to fight off the exhaustion and his thoughts have finally cleared enough to process what is going on, Roberts is announcing that they’re moving along right on schedule, and testing will stop for a lunch break. People who have completed the fear landscape may leave, but they need to come back at five o’clock, which is when the results for this test will be announced. Credence has almost forgotten that they are being timed on this. He feels he has spent a lifetime and a half in that simulation. If he’s cut, he’ll just have to find another job at MACUSA. Or work his way up from a lower ranking, administrative position within the Auror Office. He’s made peace with the results. He counted a total of eight fears, which is below the average of ten to fifteen that Roberts had mentioned, but he has probably taken much longer to work through each one than others with more fears. Graves probably wants to ask him why exactly he keeps popping up in Credence’s fear landscape, which Credence doesn’t know how to explain. Hopefully he doesn’t want to talk about the actual fears. But wouldn’t the Auror Office want to know about specific fears so they can assign people to jobs more suited to them? That sounds practical in the context of more standard fears like fear of blood or heights. He isn’t sure where his unique mix of parent issues, anger issues and abandonment issues stand. _Oh. Maybe the anger issues rule me out immediately. They probably think I’ll beat up my fellow Aurors._

         With these thoughts swirling around in his head, Credence moves towards the doors with the others who have recovered enough. A few candidates who must have just completed the test are still resting on the floor.

         A hand lands on his shoulder, causing him to jump. Graves is staring intensely at him. “Shall we talk over lunch?”

* * *

          They Apparate to an alley that MACUSA has set up as an Apparition point so they won’t startle the No-Maj population by suddenly popping into existence. A short distance away is a diner that Credence has visited before because the food is cheap, yet tasty. He didn’t expect Graves to go for food like that—the Director probably has enough money for more posh fare. But Graves is steering him inside and insisting that he pick whatever he wants off the menu, including drinks. Credence gets a huge, carb-filled meal with fries and a milkshake, suddenly starving. Spending the better part of the morning fighting your inner demons has that effect. Graves orders a steak. It suits his image.

          Credence is prepared for questions along the lines of, “Why can’t you be afraid of normal things?” or “What have I done to you to appear in your fear landscape twice?”, so the actual question catches him off guard. “Do you think this test should be conducted again as part of training?”

          Credence nearly chokes on his mouthful of food. This sounds like the sort of thing that should be discussed with other Aurors, not prospective candidates. “It might make sense to do it again as a timed exercise. People will know what to expect by then, what sort of fears they might encounter, so they might be able to get through it faster. But it’s very emotionally draining. It shouldn’t be conducted too often.”

          Graves nods thoughtfully. “How long do you think you took to clear the fear landscape?”

          Credence wonders if this is a trick question. What is a proper estimate? If he gives a number that is too low, Graves will laugh in his face. He tries to approach this another way. “How long does the average person take?”

          “Are you asking how the other candidates did? I can’t say.”

           Great, now he sounds like he’s fishing for information on where he stands. “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t want to give a number that was too low, or too high.”

          “It really differs. You might remember that some people have more fears than others so it takes them longer overall, but the time spent on each fear may be shorter than for someone with a smaller total number of fears.”

           That sounds about right. “I think I took forty minutes.” This seems like a generous estimate, but Credence thinks the fourth and seventh fears, the ones that Graves had appeared in, had probably taken him the longest to work through. He recalls crying a lot in front of simulation Graves. God, that was embarrassing. He is glad he asked for the windows to be blacked out after all.

          “Forty minutes?” Graves laughs, and Credence feels his insides shrivel up. It’s not the same harsh laugh that came from the simulation’s mouth, but it still makes him feel small and inadequate. Maybe he had taken over an hour. “It’s a lot lower than that. Nobody so far has taken forty minutes.”

          Credence is surprised to hear that. Perhaps the suspense of waiting his turn made it seem like the two people who went before him had taken a long time, and of course, his time in the simulation had seemed to stretch on forever. “Thirty minutes?”

          “Less than half of that.”

          "That’s impossible.”

          “You said that to me in the simulation too. Have some confidence.”

          “Fourteen minutes?”

          “Fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”

          “No way,” Credence says incredulously. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad timing—for all he knows, someone could have blazed through the simulation in five minutes—but it’s a lot shorter than he had thought. Hadn’t he spent a lot of time panicking?

          “Just telling it like it is. I can’t tell you how other people did, of course, but you’ll know when the results are announced. People who want to withdraw are also supposed to let us know then.”

          “I don’t plan to withdraw,” Credence says firmly. “Unless I’m cut, and if I do get cut, that’s fine, but I’m not withdrawing. I want to become an Auror.” He thinks about the fear of losing control, of anger that bursts out from under the surface leaving death and destruction in its wake. This is probably something that will dog him for a long time, but he needs to focus on the altruistic reasons for becoming an Auror, like protecting others. Maybe some of those earlier fears might disappear if he goes through the simulation again, as masochistic as it is to voluntarily subject himself to that.

         “Didn’t think you planned to withdraw.” Graves sets down his knife and fork, suddenly looking serious. “Did Grindelwald really call you a Squib, or was that part of the fear of not being able to do magic?”

          _Oh._ Now they’ve moved on to the subject of Credence’s actual fears. He plays with his napkin. “He did. I don’t remember much about that night, but I know something big set me off. I wanted to become a part of the magical community so badly, but he was saying I couldn’t, and that meant everything I’d been fighting for was for nothing. Even after I learned how to control my powers, I guess there was always that fear of it disappearing. That it was all a dream.”

         “He really messed with you while wearing my face.”

          Credence nods. Graves probably understands why he appears in the fear landscape now. It must be frustrating for him to hear someone telling him about things he supposedly said and did, when it hadn’t been him at all. Grindelwald had ruined Graves’s life as much as he had ruined Credence’s. While Credence had been at Ilvermorny, Graves had probably been fighting an uphill battle to regain his co-workers’ trust.

         “I’m sorry for what he did using my name.”

         “That wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything.” This is true. That simulation with Professor Sheridan has helped Credence realise that he shouldn’t pass judgment on people he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the real Graves at all, and until he gets to know him, Credence shouldn’t think he is a bad person just because someone else had done bad things in his name. Besides, the real Graves seems like a nice person. He’s not talking to Credence because he wants something from him, the way it had been with Grindelwald. He actually seems to respect Credence’s opinion on the tests and tried to apologise for what had happened before. And he’s also fighting his own battles.

         “I know it’s hard to believe, but I can be nicer than Grindelwald. Maybe that’s a very low standard to set, but if you get through the other tests and we end up working together, we can get to know each other better. Maybe I’ll stop appearing in your fear landscape.”

         “You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”

          Graves frowns. “I’m not scary. I’m a caring boss.”

          “I don’t know you well enough to comment on that, but I’d like to get to know you better to find out.”

           Graves smiles, and Credence can’t help but notice that it’s as stunning as the one that appeared in the simulation. So Graves has a nice smile in real life too, not just in his head. Maybe, just maybe, this is another person he can let into his life.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :') This was pretty impulsive and rushed but I had fun working on it. I had a lot of trouble coming up with a title, the document was literally just titled "fear landscape" so I fell back on my old standby of song titles/lyrics and used a line from Linkin Park's [Talking To Myself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvs68OKOquM) which I've been looping for the past few days. I can't say I grew up with their music, but it's amazing how many people their music has touched and I hope people know that they aren't alone, that they can draw on support from the outside plus inner strength they often don't know they have to fight their inner demons and fears. RIP Chester Bennington.


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